


give you something to go on

by charnelhouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Jealous Din Djarin, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charnelhouse/pseuds/charnelhouse
Summary: The Mandalorian gets jealous.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 213





	give you something to go on

You didn’t mean to piss him off. It wasn’t a coordinated attack or a devious plan.

You just...you _just_ didn’t realize...

You’d told Mando that you’d get intel and _yes_ you ended up using your _eyes_ and your _lips_ and the soft glide of your hands to get that intel, but _still_...how were you supposed to fucking know?

You’re curled up in one of the dirty, leather booths in a derelict cantina on the Outer Rim. Another bounty hunter - young and blonde and overly excited has the coordinates to a hijacked ship belonging to the Republic.

You tilt your head - resting your chin in your palm as he drones on about his latest bounty - how he trekked through a vast sand dune and managed to single-handedly defeat a Gundark. _Liar_.

You flutter your lashes - gliding your tongue along your lower lip to taste the tang from your drink. “Did you really?”

He grins - combing a hand through his thick, golden hair. “I did.”

The conversation continues and with each moment, each wild narrative - he scoots closer to you - his hand brushing up against yours - his foot knocking your knee. He’s bought you round after round - your mouth now heavy with bitter rummy tonic.

Suddenly - you feel something at your neck - the imprint of being watched - the heat of a predatory stare. You peer over your shoulder and nearly spill your cocktail. Mando is at the bar - standing perfectly still - an imposing statue of Beskar that shimmers silver-white under the dusty light of the cantina. The crowd has dispersed around him - too afraid to get within reach of his fist or his blaster.

 _Oh Maker_.

Mando had been busy - he’d been doing repairs on the ship and _well_ you just didn’t think he’d actually end up coming to the cantina. You hadn’t been gone _that_ long and you _did_ tell him you’d be getting the coordinates.

You just failed to mention that it would be through flirtatious manipulation.

 _Regardless,_ it didn’t matter - shouldn’t matter because it’s not like Mando liked you.

_Right?_

You glance at him again. He looks fucking pissed.

You’ve become quite good at reading him - the expressions hidden in the angles of his posture - the minute wrinkles in his cloak when he tenses or folds his arms over his broad chest. The way he tilts his helmet. The thick, muscular body that you just _know_ is fucking perfect beneath all that shiny armor.

 _Coordinates. Coordinates_.

That’s why you’re here.

You flip your hair and turn back to the guy. He’s definitely a tad drunk - his lids heavy and a faint blush gliding along his cheekbones. You needed to speed this up. You lower your eyes and when you peer up at him, you offer your most devastating smile - the kind you’d utilized for years to get what you wanted.

You had strength - you had unmatched reflexes and a killer shot, but you weren’t below using some harmless flirting to get information.

The guy blinks at you - his hand clenching around his glass. _Perfect_.

“About those coordinates?” you purr.

* * *

You know you’re _fucked_ when you feel a steel grip on your upper arm. It’s not tremendously painful, but it’s harsh - possessive. You gaze up at him and he’s looming over you - a hot barrier of gleaming armor. He looks _terrifying_.

“I need you,” he growls.

There’s no addition - no “for business” or “for the ship” or “a job”. It’s just a clear, concise _I. Need. You_.

It could mean anything - it could mean nothing at all, but the pressure he’s using on your arm is telling you to _listen_ to him or else.

The kid’s hand flies to your wrist and Mando jerks with it - his other fist reflexively lurching to the handle of his blaster.

“We were - uh - still having drinks,” the boy says as you try to wriggle away from his clammy fingers. He’s handsome, but he’s also extremely annoying.

“Fuck off,” Mando replies before dragging you out of the booth - through the bar and down a narrow hallway.

You trip over your feet, your boots scuffing over dirt and spilled, sticky liquor as Mando pulls you into a cramped, shadowy bathroom. It’s packed with storage containers - a single bulb of light hangs limply from the ceiling.

He hauls you to him- making you bounce against his chest before he pins you to the wall with his thigh between your legs. You feel caught - _on display_ \- an insect stretched and screwed to parchment for study.

“What was that?” he accuses - incredulous.

You frown. “Me getting intel.”

He tilts his helmet - his fingers tightening around your arms. “No... _that_ wasn’t.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes you have to use some old-fashioned flirting to get information.”

You can literally hear his jaw creak. He raises his gloved hand to your cheek - the warm leather curving around your chin. He’s breathing hard and you’re suddenly very - _very_ \- uncertain.

Finally - blessedly - he speaks. “I didn’t like it. I didn’t like when he touched you.”

“Well - I wasn’t going to let him do anything,” You grip his pauldrons- your palms slick with sweat as your understanding of “ _what this is”_ and “ _what this had been”_ vanishes completely.

“I don’t care,” he spits as he thrusts his hands into your hair. “He _thought_ he could and I just - I couldn’t stand there and watch him try.”

 _Where was this going?_ Mando was M _ando_ \- the man - the hunter - the block of solid steel who partnered with you to earn credits and sometimes commit illegal acts. He had never - not once - treated you with anything, but courteous respect.

This new side to him - this passionate, furious, possessive side - was startling.

“Mando,” You press your thumb to his armor - trace a circle - a pattern into the Beskar. “It was just business.”

He’s silent, his visor fastened to your face - emotion-less as a blank droid.

Your skin feels hot - your ears are ringing. “Why...why are you so upset?”

He exhales sharply before he cups your jaw - fingers massaging the bone - massaging you down to clay. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?” you falter.

He sighs, “You’re really going to make me say it out loud?”

Your head is spinning. He’s so close - burying you into the wall and it’s near-black in here - old light - leaking pipes and Mando’s heart thrums underneath your palm - through Beskar - through it all. You want to say _yes_. You want to say _please_.

“What if I show you?”

“Show me?” He brushes a lock of your hair off your forehead.

“I’m better at that...not good with words...but...but I can show you.”

You nod - sucking your bottom lip between your teeth and _chewing_ it to ruin. You’re nervous - your fingers are trembling against him - catching in his cape - and you’re so caught off guard by all this - by Mando and his jealousy and his apparent desire for you.

_Isn’t it obvious?_

_No, it certainly was not._

Mando’s already working your pants down your legs - his helmet pressed against your forehead. You want to kiss him - you want his mouth and tongue, but you’re also not sure what he’s willing to give you. You are blindly navigating through this - catching at threads of sensation and his dominating direction.

You settle for less.

“Can you take your gloves off?” and he’s tossing them, flinging them into the shadows without question.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs as he gets your boots off. His hands are blazing - silky and demanding as he curls his grip around the delicate skin of your knee. “Everyone in that bar couldn’t keep their eyes off you. It made me sick.”

“That - that’s not true,” you breathe as he lifts you forcefully and drops you on the sink - or whatever fucking stands in for a sink in this dump.

He makes a soft mouth sound - his hands back to your face - your cheeks - anywhere and everywhere. “You know you’re beautiful. I-I shouldn’t even touch you like this.” You hear the zipper of his pants - the brush of wet skin and his knuckles running up the seam of your cotton-covered cunt. “Shouldn’t be fucking you in this dirty bathroom - treating you to _this_.”

“I like it,” you gasp as he hitches your underwear to the side. “I-I wanted you to fuck me - thought about it - thought about it since we first met.”

“Fuck,” he pants. “Fuck - I-I didn’t know. I thought you just tolerated me - you’re always keeping to yourself.”

Your conversation is stilted - accusations and misunderstandings snapped back and forth in a duel of sorts and all of it concluding with Mando opening you up until you're wet and begging.

“I guess we were wasting time,” you quip as your nails skate up the velvet, hot length of him.

His body lurches against you - a hiss between clenched teeth.

“I’ll have to make up for it,” he replies - ragged as if the sentence has been yanked over grit and sand.

His hips are between your legs as he shoves the bulbous head of his cock through your folds - catching it on your clit and making you quake - nails digging into the creases of his cloak. It’s obscene - he is fully clothed in metal and you’re bare below the waist - probably leaving a gloss of your own slick all over him - probably catching some sort of infection from all the grime.

It’s shameful.

If he stopped now, you’d die.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he marvels like he can’t quite believe it, and maybe - truly - he _can’t_. He seemed shocked by the confession of your affection for him - your desire for him a real, desperate thing that you had harbored for months. He tucks his helmet against your shoulder - the great weight of his body curved over you - pressing you deeper into the sink. The faucet is stabbing your spine and the stone is cold under your ass, but he’s a beacon of heat - anchoring you in place until every piece of you shines with open nerves.

“I’m - I’m gonna fuck you now,” he rasps as if you weren’t already _waiting_ for it.

And then he’s sinking inside the soaked through channel of your cunt, and despite how utterly wet you are, it’s still a fucking _shock_. He’s huge - stretching you lewdly without the foreplay of twisting fingers to ready you. You squeak - the back of your head slamming into the mirror as your knees slip against his cuirass.

“Fuck - are you okay?” His hand is shaking as he frantically combs your hair out of your eyes - his other hand stroking your thigh - flexing it along your hip as your cunt begins to swallow him.

“Yeah,” you bite out. “Give me a minute - did not - did not expect that.”

He laughs and it’s so heated - so filthy and smug through the modulator that you convulse around him - tasting the twitch of his cock.

“You feel really fucking good,” he husks as he holds himself above you. He’s absolutely rigid - still as a corpse - as if he were lying in wait for a bounty. He _waits_ \- petting you - feeling you ease around him - every moment spent mindful of your pain. “Gorgeous girl,” he croons. “So tight and sweet. So good for me.”

You swallow thickly before digging your fingers to his shoulders and pulling him closer. You raise your legs so he can force your knees back. “Move now,” you whine - the words coming out like a slur - like an aching tumble.

He fucks you _hard_. He fucks you like it’s the last time - like it’s the only time. He pries your legs apart - wraps his hands behind your thighs so that he can pound you into the damn sink - the stone counter.

That’s what this is: a dirty, crazed fuck in the very public bathroom of a shit-hole cantina.

_And yet..._

At the same time - Mando is touching you with gentle precision - he’s praising you through the clench of his teeth as he hits you womb-deep - to the point that you can’t form words. It’s wickedness wrapped in silk. It’s blood and the notched trigger of a blaster beneath the gorgeous sheen of a white moon. A calm, star-painted galaxy ripped through by a meteor shower.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers.

“Huh?” You’re clinging to him as he tears you apart on his cock - your teeth clicking in your mouth with each brutal screw of his hips.

“Close your eyes,” he urges and you do - letting everything go to sensations - to touch and taste and graphic sound.

His helmet clangs to the floor. _Oh fuck._

Something breaks inside you - something very serious - because this is _big_ \- this is Mando going bare-faced so that he can get closer to you and it’s all satin-black and shadows and the tightness of your lids - but it’s _something_.

“Mando?” You sound nervous - wrecked and fucked out - but still panicked because you’re not sure if this is a line he should be so willing to cross. He hushes you with the heat of his mouth and the wet, sweep of his tongue and _maker_ Mando can fucking kiss. His thumbs are riding the cups of your cheeks - massaging the flesh as he squeezes - _open up, little thing_ \- _let me kiss you -_

And _oh_ \- to be called _that_ \- Mando with his strict codes of conduct and his difficult humor and his stubborn behavior - to fall apart and reveal himself - _little thing_

He licks your throat - sucking marks that _burn_ and _pinch._ “I want him to know,” he grits out between the graze of his tongue. “I want everyone in this bar to know what you are to me.”

“What’s that?” You dig your nails into his hair - savor its fullness - its smell of his generic shampoo and too much sweat. His mouth moves to your chest - his fingers hooking your vest open to briefly suckle the peak of your breast. He’s nearly bending you in half with how furiously he’s rutting into you.

“You’re mine,” he states plainly before he’s pulling himself out of you and dropping to his knees. It’s like whiplash - the loss of him urgent and ugly before he’s lifting your thighs over his shoulders and licking one long stripe up your cunt. The flesh is drenched - swelling around his tongue - gaping and demanding to be filled by him again.

He draws your clit into his mouth as he stabs you open with three fingers and _oh fuck me_ as you rip his hair so hard he hisses.

“Knew you’d taste good,” he groans as he buries his tongue inside you, as your legs tremble around the curve of his skill. “Gonna make you come all over my face, sweet girl.”

You - you did not expect this. You feel destabilized - swept up in a hurricane of very strange, tremulous emotions because the Mandalorian - the silent, domineering, warrior you have come to know - is eating you out on a dirt-encrusted bathroom sink with a whole crowd of people outside and then - _and then_ \- asking you to come on him.

His praise is filthy and you really don’t understand how he could say he wasn’t good with words because each sentence slipping off his tongue is making you spasm around him.

He bites down - tugging a fold into his mouth and _sucking_ and it’s so fucking wrong that you shove the back of your hand against your mouth to keep from shrieking. Your body is going tight - back curving up like a bridge - and when he returns his lips to you it’s already _over_ \- your climax crashes down into your core - the meat of your center. It’s a liquid rush - flooding out of you and soaking his chin and what you can feel is definitely facial hair and _stars that was new...that was wet and unexpected.._

You hear him smacking his lips - drawing his fingers into his mouth and licking them off and it’s all so crude - so stupidly obscene - that you want to die - just die right then as your thighs shamelessly splay open around his face.

“I take it you liked that,” he remarks dryly - his grin apparent against your knee - the arrogant heat to his words.

“You - you obviously know I did,” you snap back at him - trying for irritated - but it comes out shaky - on thin, weak legs.

“You can be such a brat,” he acknowledges as he stands up, and hoists your ankles over his pauldrons and your back is going to be terribly bruised tomorrow, but you don’t give a shit. “Such a bratty, pretty thing.”

_Maker._

He guides himself inside you and it’s _easy_ \- everything made slippery and open as he takes his sweet time to seesaw his hips and fuck you with slow, tentative strokes while your walls clench and your stomach muscles cramp. The bathroom is just a chamber - vibrating with the din of your noisy screwing - the squelch of his cock thrusting into your pussy - the slap of his groin against your ass.

You wrap your arms around his neck - tug his face to yours - beg for a kiss like the pathetic, whimpering mess you are and he gives it to you in kind - a hot, open-mouthed meeting of lips and teeth and his tongue stroking yours with each snap of his hips.

“You don’t - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he mutters into your cheek - scraping his face along yours - desperate to get closer - to push himself into you. “You’re perfect - fucking so pretty. Didn’t think it would happen.”

You thread your fingers through his hair - memorizing the curl of it - the way it sits plastered to his neck from exertion. You realize that you don’t want this to end - that you don’t want him to stop or leave you or build back the barriers that have made him so untouchable.

“I want it again,” you murmur as he slows his pace. “I don’t want this to be the only time.”

He bends and presses his brow to yours - his sweat dripping brine on your tongue as he breathes into your mouth and his hips jerk against you. You moan into his kiss and when he turns his face away - unable to handle the tender intimacy of it - you pull him back to you - cradle his jaw and hold him steady. You’re bearing down on his cock - tight and choking and when you cup his chin and say it again - repeat it against the warm, pillow-touch of his lips. “I want you all the time.”

He shudders - making a broken, wrecked sound and his hands fly to the root of his cock so he can yank it out of you - spilling warm spend along your inner thigh and the curve of your belly.

* * *

Then it’s over and your body fucking _hurts_ now - the pleasure having muted it to a blurred, far away sensation when he was buried in you to the hilt. He walks away to reach for his helmet, but he keeps his hand braced against your knee - a reminder that he’s there.

Your lungs feel punched out - feel swollen - and when you open your eyes - the bathroom turns to red and brown - crests to bright - and it smells like sex and steel and sweat. The bar is loud outside the door - the staccato hit of music and the echo of laughter - the tinkle of glass. He’s searching the bathroom before he shrugs, slides you to the side of the sink, wets the edge of his cape and cleans the mess between your legs.

“That - that is not sanitary,” you grumble - still too ruined to speak properly.

He nudges your chin with his knuckles - his thumb piercing the plush of your lip. “I’ll clean you properly on the ship.”

 _Whatever that means_.

He puts your pants back on - ties up your boots as you sit - boneless and subdued. He’s maneuvering around the room - picking up his gloves and weapons and other debris from their panic-driven sex. He’s almost awkward - his smooth movements hitched with tension and anxiousness.

Finally - he strides toward you - wedging himself between your legs - looming over you like a great titan - a silent, deadly hunter.

It makes your heart jam up into your throat. But when he speaks - his voice is gentle - thin with the barest glimmer of fear. “Did you mean what you said?”

“What I said?”

_You said a lot of things and most of them disgusting._

“Wanting to uh - do this again.”

_Oh._

“Yeah,” you smile as you try and sit up - your spine _screaming_. “If you give me an hour, I’ll be ready for round two.”

He laughs then - a true laugh - bursting out of him. It lacks all of the careful, perfunctory control he usually exudes. It compels you to laugh with him.

“We’re going out the back,” you finally say as he helps you down from the counter. Your knees give out, but he’s right there - curving his solid, Beskar-coated arm around your waist.

“No,” He tightens his hold - his fingers digging into your hip. “We’re going out the front.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just started a tumblr so would love for you guys to come say hi and yet porn with me over there if you have one! Find me at @charnelhouse


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